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I got myself a tattoo about nine years ago. Just a small one, a date, written upside-down on the inside of my forearm so that I was the only one who could see it right-side up. The date of my retirement.
I’d planned on getting a small sailboat (I can’t afford a house in most parts of my home country) and just fucking-off forever.
Then my Dad got sicker. Now, most of my savings are gone, and my dreams are like “A Raisin In The Sun”. Dried, dessicated, disappeared.
On the bright side, my Dad has lived several more years than expected because I stuck around, I’ve become the butler of an idiotic mutt who unfathomably adores me no matter how many times I forget the snack-bag, and, more importantly, I have learned that dreams, particularly dreams of the future, are malleable.
So, I guess one of my points here is - I don’t think you made the wrong choice, @Jesse13927 , you made the suitable choice at the suitable time. No-one has a crystal ball. Life is not a straight line.
And your Grandma sounds fab!
I wish you the very best for the future.
You and me both. Don’t ever leave, will you…
Yep, but on the bright side (selfishly), I’ve learned a great deal from those communities who do post here.
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Have some baby-puppy hugs!
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Oh, I feel that way all the time. Which is when I then repeat this German mantra:
Hätte hätte Fahrradkette
Yeah, I fucked up, and I’ve been fucking up most of my life, but I am alive, I still find it amazing that I can feel, breathe, basically experience reality. And eventually I will move on, but until then I shall enjoy this.
I hope you can find little moments of pleasure to help get over the woulda shoulda moments.
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Those idiotic mutts do seem to be a sort of glue in our lives. My ex girlfriend has been living with me for about eight years over the end of our relationship precisely because of her mutt, who is the one guy I adore most.
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He looks wonderfully idiotic.
(Speaking as a pro, not as a judge)
ETA: He also looks like a long, long way away Friesian. (Might just be me)
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Well, he’s a Spanish mutt from Andalusia, and the Spanish authorities at the shelter called him a Parson Russel mix. At 12, his loss of hearing means he’s no longer so afraid of thunderstorms, and though he’s always been stubborn he’s got a sort of old man’s “I’m too old for this shit” attitude now. But he still goes to the office with me whenever I go, and still has some spunk left in him.
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I’m starting to think I’m not.
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Personally, I am alright, right now… but I am really not so sure Boing Boing is. I truly worry about the direction our beloved little community of nerds seems to be taking lately.
Holler if ya hear me.
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This seems like a good place for this…
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